


Simple Man

by cohu



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Jane Winchester - Freeform, dean winchester twin, sister winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:30:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6281011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cohu/pseuds/cohu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He left her. She left it all. She should have realized that you can't out run who you are. Especially if you're a Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Go Your Own Way

**Author's Note:**

> So this my first try at a story in a long while. I don't know how regularly I'll update but I'll try to keep it going. I could also use a beta, for motivation and general help if anyone wants the trying task of keeping me going.

 

_Family means no one gets left behind or forgotten._   
_-David Ogden Stiers_

 

The silence woke her. An odd thing for a person to wake to but she was so used to soft snores of her youngest brother and constant shifting and mumbling of her twin that the lack of sound, any sound, was unusual.

_‘Sam…she didn’t want to think about Sam right now but Dean. Dean should be here. Why didn’t she hear Dean?’_

Quickly sitting upright Jane looked around the shoddy motel room. After…after what had happened, the event she was still deliberately not thinking about, they had found the closest motel and crashed. She took in the horrible pink wallpaper, the large cheap six-drawer dresser, with an extremely dated TV on top, a table with two chairs next to the door, then finally the other full bed cover in a lovely pink floral bed spread that looked relatively untouched. The late afternoon light spilled in from the one window casting the room in a dusty gold color.

_‘What had woke her again?’_

Something was wrong, obviously. Jane blinked a few times and drug her hand down her face. The bed. The bed was wrong. Turning on her own bed to face the empty one she set her feet on the dirty gray carpet, absently noting that her boots were still on and that she had slept above the comforter.

_‘Disgusting’_ She grimaced. She knew the comforter was never washed. _‘The bed Jane. The BED. Pay attention.’_

Shaking her head, finally throwing off the last bit of disorientation. She looked at the bed across from her again. The covers weren’t pulled back, that in itself wasn’t odd, she too fell asleep atop the bed. What was odd was how untouched the bedding was, like no one had slept in it.

Which didn’t make sense. Dean would have slept in that bed. And if Dean had slept in that bed then the bedding would be a mess, Dean was the definition of a restless sleeper.

So Dean hadn’t slept in the bed. Maybe he slept in the Impala? Pushing herself off the bed, back cracking as she stood. A few long steps brought her to the window. No Impala. Did he…did he go grab some food? A drive to clear his head?

Worry began to creep in. Turning away from the window she looked around the room. Her duffle was on the floor at the base of her bed, where she remembered dropping it…yesterday?

Jane looked at her watch, May 7th 6:32 PM. It had been a full day since. _Since._

Dean’s duffle, though, was nowhere to be found. Hands frantically began patting her clothing, searching for her cell as she walked around the room, for a sign, any sign of where her brother may have gone. No sign of Dean, no cell phone. Panicking she dove into her duffle and sighed with relief when her hand finally touched the hard plastic. No missed calls, no messages. Frowning she flipped her phone open and hit speed dial. It rung for a bit then went to voice mail.

“This is Dean Winchester. If this is an emergency, leave a message. If you're calling about 11-2-83, please page me with your coordinates.”

“Dean! Where the fuck are you? Call me.”

Jane tapped the phone against her mouth as she paced. Dean gone. Dean’s duffle gone. Impala gone. Dean not answering his phone.

_‘Why?’_

She called again.

“Dean, seriously. Call me.”

And again.

“Sam…Sam was my brother too. I need you here. I need my twin. We can get through this together but you need to come back.”

Again.

“I’m going to kick your ass so hard you’ll wish you were in hell.”

Again.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that. But Dean. Where are you? Why aren’t you answering?”

Again.

“Shit. Are you hurt? Did something happen? Dean. I’m calling Bobby.”

Jane was in a full blown panic. Dean was hurt or captured or worse. That had to be the reason he wasn’t answering his phone. He would be here with her if he could. He wouldn’t have left her after what possibly the worst day of their lives. He wouldn’t.

Dialing another number, running a hand through her hair, she sighed with relief when the line was answered.

“Singer”

“Bobby, thank God. Have you talked to Dean? He didn’t go on another hunt without me did he? I’m going to kick his ass.” She talked rapidly into the phone, pacing back and forth angrily.

“Jane ---”

“He should know better. We’ve got to stick together. He can’t just go gallivanting off. He is so going to get it when I see him, fuckin --- ” Her unoccupied hand gesturing furiously in the stale air.

“Jane!” Bobby yelled

Jane paused, “What?”

“I’ve talked to Dean. He didn’t go on a hunt.”

“Well thank the Lord for that. So where is he?” She demanded.

“He,” Bobby stopped clearly struggling for words, “He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what Bobby?”

“Jane. Dean gave up hunting. He’s moving in with Lisa.” His words were spoken slowly as if they were forced from him.

“Lisa…?” Jane wracked her brain for the connection. The picture pretty brunette with a young son who may or may not be Dean’s child briefly flashed in her mind, “Oh Lisa. Right.”

Jane fell silent. Her arm fell awkwardly back to her side. She stared blankly ahead. Her mind was buzzing.

_‘He’s gone. He left. He left you. He left you behind.’_

“He didn’t tell you,” Jane could vaguely hear Bobby still talking on the other end of the line, “Jane. Jane? You there?”

Her legs felt weak. She shakily sat on the floor at the base of the bed.

“I’m fine.” Her own words seemed to echo in space from a long ways away.

“Dammit Jane. I didn’t even ask. You’re obviously not okay. I’m coming to get you. Where’re you staying?”

Numbly she told him the address of the motel, she could hear Bobby speak some more but the effort to understand what he said was too much, and then the line went dead. Automatically she closed the phone and it fell from numb hands.

_‘He left. He left. He left. Gone. Gone. Gone. All gone.’_

The words kept repeating in her mind.

It seemed like simultaneously minutes and hours before she heard a knock at the motel door. Body working on autopilot she stood and opened the door. Bobby stood before her but she hardly saw him. Her eyes automatically went to the empty parking spot where the Impala should have been.

Bobby could see Jane was a wreck. Pale, mouth drawn into a thin line, dull lifeless eyes.

“Oh Janie.” Bobby sighed. She blinked, eyes finally focusing on the man in front of her.

She could only say one short phrase before she collapsed in his arms. Her words reverberated through his mind as Bobby held the crying woman tightly as she poured her compounded grief into his chest.

“They left me.”

 

1 Month Later

“Jane are you sure you want to do this? You know you’re welcome here for as long as you’d like.”

Jane turned away from the modified 1979 Jeep Renegade where she had been loading her bags into the back. She gave him a tired smile.

“Thanks Bobby, for everything. Dean has moved on with his life. I need to do the same. I can’t do that here. I need to find something for myself that isn’t hunting. I need to learn to be my own person.”

“Well if you’re set on this I won’t stop you. But you make damn well sure to keep in touch. You’re family.” He said gruffly emotions weren’t his thing.

Jane’s smile grew a little as she chuckled. Walking up to Bobby she gave him a strong hug.

“I’ll keep in touch. Love you.” She whispered. She then quickly turned away and hopped into her Jeep. Emotions weren’t hers either.

Turning the key in the ignition the vehicle rumbled to life, the radio came to life playing one of her favorite Kansas songs. Putting the Jeep into gear she looked down at the map in the passenger seat, and the small California town circled there. Beacon Hills. She pealed out.

 

_Carry on my wayward son_   
_There'll be peace when you are done_   
_Lay your weary head to rest_   
_Don't you cry no more no!_


	2. I can't escape myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Supernatural doesn't just let you leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait but writing isn't something that comes easy or that I actually find enjoyable. Why write at all then you ask? Because I read a quote somewhere that said if you can't find what you want to read then write it. I've had this idea in my head for ages but couldn't find a satisfactory story to fill that burning need. 
> 
> So I'm trying to combine Supernatural Werewolf lore with Teen Wolf so there will be a little of both. If you see anything that doesn't make sense or needs more clarification with the lore presented here then please let me know. I made a lot of this up on the fly. Also I have done a been of sloppy editing so I'm sure there are mistakes please let me know, but like gently. Also if ya'll have some ideas for the the story I would be more than happy to hear them. I'm basically writing these chapters as one per episode of Teen wolf. Also if you feel that Jane is becoming to Mary-Sue-ish please please let me know. I want to try to steer clear of that at all costs.

Goddamn she was tired. Jane leaned back in the chair she occupied, stretching her arms up, lengthening her spine with a satisfying crack. Working full time as a waitress at Penny’s diner, a few late night and weekend hours as a bartender at the Jungle, in addition to school part time at Beacon Hills Community College and working on getting her new loft livable. She’d never thought that living a ‘normal life’ would have been so tiring. Sometimes, at the worst hours, when the lack of sleep caught up to her while working on school work at all hours of the night she wished she could go back, to the simpler times when it was just her, the boys and the hunt. She rubbed her face, staring down at the bright screen of her laptop.

 

 _'If wishes were horses beggars would ride,'_ She chuckled, then immediately regretted the thought.

 

It was only in her weaker moments that she wished to go back to hunting. Sure this was just as hard, if not harder, but at least she had a goal, had a future in mind. Before she had just been directionless, just looking for the next hunt, and then the next. It would have continued in that same pattern until it finally killed her. She had no future in that life. It wasn’t even the hunting that she missed. It was the family, the camaraderie between them. Knowing that she had their back and they had hers. She would be the first to admit she was lonely, though to no fault but her own. She was too busy, too tired, and if she were honest, too gun shy to make the effort to meet anyone, despite being in Beacon Hills for over 6 months.

 

She sat there listening to the rain outside beat a steady rhythm on the windowpanes, staring off into space, the room only lit by the glow of her laptop, her mind in the comfortable cloud of emptiness that only came with exhaustion. That was when she heard it, a deep, distant howl echoing through the small town of Beacon Hills. Her head snapped around, eyes widening in horror as she quickly made her way to the large bay of windows. Looking out at the wet warehouse district below, she could feel her carefully created façade of a normal life start to crumble. There were no wolves in California. That she knew.

 

 _‘Werewolf,_ ’ she immediately thought, _‘but it could be a dog…or a coyote. Right?’_ but in her gut she knew. The supernatural had come to Beacon Hills and she knew, just knew that it was going to fuck up her life.

 

“Fuck”

 

* * *

 

The next morning she had made the resolution that no matter what Supernatural Shit went down in Beacon Hills, it wasn’t her problem. Not anymore. She was going to be normal as shit and ignore the issue. Maybe it would solve itself, or someone else would. This had lasted all of four days when a sarcastic, hyperactive, loudmouthed 16 year old came flailing through the diner’s door late that afternoon. He slipped on the wet linoleum landing on the floor with a loud thud. A few customers stared as the boy lay groaning on the floor but most, used to this scene by now, carried on with their meal. Jane refilled a few of the customers coffee mugs while the boy clambered up into a stool, dramatically sprawling across bar. She grabbed an order of curly fries from the kitchen window, an order that she had placed once she saw the familiar blue jeep pull into the parking lot of the diner. Turning she dropped the plate in front of his face. Popping up quickly he began shoveling fries into his mouth.

 

She regarded him with an unimpressed stare, “What’s up Stiles?”

 

He jerked his head up from the plate in front of him, mouth stuffed full of fries, “What?” and then began choking.

 

Sighing Jane grabbed a glass of Root Beer and set it firmly front of him. Still coughing he mumbled a strangled thanks and sucking on the straw. She watched Stiles gather himself before inquiring again.

 

“So…where’s the fire? You came running in like you where running from the police,” a thought formed in her head and she narrowed her eyes at him, “you haven’t done anything to make your Dad angry lately, have you?”

 

Stiles blanched.

 

“No -- I mean yes – but, that’s not why I’m here,” Stiles frantically tried to explain while his hands flailed around him like they did when he was nervous…or excited… or happy, angry even, anytime he was feeling high emotions,  “Well it kinda is but at the same time it isn’t. An adjacent reason.” He gave a firm nod at the last statement.

 

Jane sighed eyes rolling heavenward asking for patience. She loved the kid but sometimes he was just…too much. Especially after a few long days and even longer nights. Sleep had not come easy the past two days.

 

Jane leaned on the counter between them. Resting her head upon an up turned palm she groaned,  “Stiles Stilinski.”

 

 “Jane…” he began mockingly then faltered, “you know, you’ve never told me your last name.”

 

“You’ve never asked,” Jane dismissed the accusation with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

 

Looking at her expectantly he demanded, “Well?”

 

Jane gave a small smirk, “Well, what?” She was being deliberately obtuse but it amused her to rile Stiles a bit. Pulling the annoying older sister card provided endless amount of amusement just like it had before…there was a hot twinge in her chest as old memories began to surface.

 

“Your last name.” She blinked at Stiles for a second, still caught up in vague memories of the past.

 

“Doe,” she said watching Stiles face while he processed the information. He mouthed her name silently, brow furrowed.  It was always amusing to give people her ‘full name’, they never expected her answer, it was part of reason she chose the last name. Hey, girls gotta get her kicks somewhere. Going by the name Jane Doe was both hilarious and pathetic. A woman trying to create a whole new identity chose a name associated with every unidentifiable female in the United States.

 

“Wait, seriously?” He exclaimed looking at her, eyes narrowed slits. The kid had good instincts but Jane was a better liar and after over 20 years of pretending to be various people she most definitely wasn’t her poker face wasn’t something to scoff at.

 

She just gave him a tired smile and shrugged her shoulders again, “What can I say, my parents had a sense of humor,” Which they did – just not in this particular case, “if you’ll believe it I have a twin named Dean.”

 

 _‘Seriously’_ , she thought, _‘who names their kids Jane and Dean after James Dean’_

 

‘Shit.’ A brief flush of fear made its way through her body. She hadn’t meant to say that.

 

Luckily Jane Doe also had a twin; in fact her life was eerily similar to a one Jane Winchester with a few key details difference. The best lie, she had learned, was as close to the truth as possible, it made it easier to remember and mistakes easier to cover up. That being said she hadn’t meant for family to come into the conversation, she actively avoided any mention of her family.

 

“You have a twin?” Stiles was eager to know more about the waitress and who was becoming one of his favorite people in his life. This was the first time she had made any mention of family, or anything from her life before Beacon Hills for that matter. She was pretty tight lipped about her life in general he realized. There wasn’t a lot he knew about her.

 

Ignoring his question she hurriedly attempted to move the conversation back to the original line. “Stiles. Not that I don’t enjoy your company but why are you here? Besides for the best curly fries in Beacon Hills.”

 

Stiles studied her for a moment. She was a beautiful woman there was no doubt about that. Golden blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun, clear skin, a dreamer’s hazel eyes, symmetrical facial structure with wonderful check bones but it was obvious she was struggling with something right then. The beginnings of dark circles under her eyes could be seen, her skin seemed to be a little on the sallow side and the general air of tiredness prevented Stiles from pressing further.

 

Giving her a look that promised the subject would not be forgotten he collected his thoughts for the reason he came here in the first place. “Oh. Right. You’re studying Folklore and Mythology at BHCC right?” he asked.

 

Relieved that he dropped that line of inquiry she picked of a rag and began wiping down the counter. “Uh yeah. I’m studying Folklore and Mythology amongst other things. Why?”

 

“So uh, I have this project - for school -- about local myths and I uh, chose to do werewolves.” She froze, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Eyes locked on the counter in front of her that she had been cleaning. Ears ringing so loud that she almost missed the end of Stiles question.

 

“So I was wondering if you could help with some of my research.”

 

Pulling herself back together and schooling her features she faced Stiles. Luckily it seems her brief episode had gone unnoticed by the teen.

 

“I’m sure you could find a plethora of information on the Internet fairly easily Stiles.” She said drily, reluctant to give Stiles the information she was pretty sure he sought.

 

“Yeah, yeah. True, true.  But is it good information? From creditable sources? I don’t want information from some neckbeard person who hasn’t left their parent’s basement. Or the teenybopper’s twilight stuff. I want the original beliefs and mythos. I want the real itty gritty stuff.”

 

She grimaced, ‘ _itty gritty is right. Stiles you don’t know what a can of worms this is.’_

 

Stiles studied the silent woman. She seemed reluctant to help. He knew it wasn’t because she didn’t want to be bothered by some high school student with his homework. She had helped him in the past with less. What was it about his request that made her hesitate? There was no way she knew about Scott…right?

 

“So will you help? Please? For the education of this nations future?” He prodded when the silence stretched on.

 

She pursed her lips coming to a decision. If her gut was right, and it usually was, it would be better to give Stiles the information he needed than to withhold it. Prepared was always better. She had always adhered to the 7 P’s.

 

 Proper Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. 

 

“This nations future my ass,” She sighed, “Fine. My shift is over in an hour. You can come over to my place and I’ll give you some help with that project. Now shoo. I have actual customers that need my attention.” Jerking her hand in a flapping motion toward the door.

 

He beamed at her, “Awesome! Thanks Jane!” Stiles pushed himself away from the counter, spun around on the bar stool, feet landing with a solid thump on the floor before he tore out of the diner.

 

Another thought occurred to her, “Wait Stiles what does this have to do with your Dad?” but it was too late. Stiles was out the door.

 

And honestly? It didn’t matter; she had an idea of what trouble Stiles had gotten himself into. It was all over Beacon Hills about the poor girl that was found in the Reserve over the weekend. Dead body in the woods, or half a dead body, was too good of an opportunity for Stiles to pass up. It wasn’t the first time Stiles had crashed a crime scene after listening in on his Dad’s phone conversations. She’d heard enough stories from the Sheriff and his deputies, as well as Stiles over the few months. The dead body and the details about the crime scene. The howl Sunday night, and now Stiles line of inquiry were too much of a coincidence. Her gut had told her werewolf Sunday night and everything thus far had confirmed it. She supposed the old adage was true. You can take the hunter out of the hunt but you can’t take the hunt out of the hunter. And now Stiles was somehow involved.

 

And wasn’t that just _great_.

 

* * *

 

Jane already had photocopies ready for Stiles when he arrived at her loft apartment. She could hear Stiles well before she heard the knock on her door. The pounding of feet on the stairs, the occasional stumble and then muffed curse. It was part of the reason she liked this apartment, it was almost impossible not make any noise. A nice early warning system to provide that extra level of security. The walls of the converted industrial building amplified any sounds within the hallways.

The other reason is that she struck a good deal with the landlord for the place. It had been completely unfinished when she had first arrived. So she and the landlord had come to an agreement that she would pay a reduced rent but split some of the cost of finishing the space with him. Even better she could do much of the work herself and save them both money in the long run. When she hadn’t been working during the summer that had she first moved to Beacon Hills, before she started classes at BHCC, she had worked on the apartment.

It wasn’t half bad in her opinion and infinitely better than any place she had previously lived in a long time. She had refinished the old hardwood floors and stained them a nice dark walnut that play wonderfully off of the exposed brick. A bank of windows ran almost the entire span of the east wall of the apartment, starting about chest high and climbing two stories to the ceiling, arching artfully at the top. She had meticulously gone over each window cleaning and replacing the glass. At the back of the apartment was a small modern kitchen with an L-shaped bar that seated two, a powder room, and a closet that held her washer and dryer.

What she was most proud of was the build in floor to ceiling bookshelves she had made as well that the bookshelf that ran the length of the window sitting just below them and connecting the two massive shelves. They framed in the window and had a rolling ladder to reach the top. Every shelf was filled with books that she had collected over the years, fiction, non-fiction and an impressive selection of books on folklore and mythos. She had started collecting books at a young age at first just keep them at Bobby’s and then in a storage container. Her mythos section was compiled over the years from Bobby, ‘acquiring’ them from hunters, her own personal purchases, and many from John Winchester’s storage containers that he had left behind. When payments had ceased for many of the storage containers he had rented around the country they had contacted her to come get the items left in the container. Apparently he had left instructions that she was to be the one to contact as a sort of executive of the estate for the items. She didn’t have many fond memories of her father but at least he done something right by making sure the items he had collected over the years didn’t fall into the wrong hands. What her brothers would have done with given the same task she couldn’t say but at least John understood that she was the most reliable.

The décor of the loft was clean modern lines that she favored with an eclectic mix of old world charm. She had a soft spot of antics and old style craftsmanship but the modern lines fit more within her need for cleanliness and order. There was a spiral iron staircase that lead to her lofted bedroom, walk in closet and wonderfully luxurious bathroom that reminded her of the bath in the new housing development that she had used during the case she had dubbed ‘Bugs’ years ago. It had been great being able to design her apartment as she saw fit and it had the added bonus of allow her to Supernatural proof it, as much as could be done anyway. Salt in small tubs lined the entire floor underneath the floor boards, sigils, runes, and other symbols to protect against any supernatural that might wish to harm littered the loft in strategically place locations, the sliding door on the south of the loft was iron as were the window frames. She always tried to take time daily to appreciate her apartment. The sense of pride and accomplishment it gave her was a new feeling and she reveled in it. This was something she had not only designed and created but it was her own place of refuge, it had become her home. Which was something she hadn’t had since she was four. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knocking at the door.

 

“Its open,” she called from where she lounged in her favorite chair.

 

Stiles slid the door open and bounced into the loft. He loved coming over to Jane’s place. Not only was it beautiful, and he knew she had done much of the work herself, but it was homey. There were plants everywhere that provided an indoor outdoor feel, the amount of books in the apartment was staggering. He glanced around the apartment looking for Jane. He saw the dreaded punching bag that she had hung from the rafters that held the second story over in the corner and glared at it.

 

“Over here,” she said waving him over but when she saw where he had been looking she grinned in a way that showed way too many teeth for his comfort level. “I’m thinking you are long over due for a workout, don’t you?”

 

Stiles gave her a wide-eyed look, “No. No. I think I’m good. Lacrosse and all keeping me nice and fit.”

 

Jane snorted but dropped the subject waving him over once more. Stiles gave the punching bag another glance and shuddered. Jane was a brutal workout partner he had unwittingly discovered. As soon as he sat down on the couch Jane dropped a thick stack of photocopied paper in his lap.

 

“Here. This should be everything. Review it. If you have any questions come ask me.”

 

He gapped at the size of the stack. He knew she had a lot of information but this was more than he was expecting. He felt his spirits rising; maybe he could help Scott after all.

 

“Holy shit this is amazing!” Stiles flipped through the stack skimming the contents.

 

“There are a few key things about werewolves you’ll want to definitely mention in your project,” Jane began deliberately mentioning the ‘school project’.

 

Stiles looked a bit guilty for a moment, “Right. The project.” He didn’t like lying to Jane but it was for her own protection, and Scotts too if he thought about it. Plus she wouldn’t have believed the truth anyway. He was _still_ trying to wrap his mind around it.

 

Jane shook her head; he needed to work on his poker face.

 

“One,” raising a hand with one finger, “There is as many different types of werewolves as there are humans. Not everything is going to work for every werewolf. But there are two main types of Werewolves. Born and Bitten.”

 

She settled back into the chair, legs stretched out in front of her, and rested her hands on her stomach with her fingers laced.

 

“Born werewolves usually have an easier time controlling their animal instincts than Bitten for a variety of reasons. Born grow up learning to control their “other side” and are more comfortable with it mainly because its all they know, it less an “other side” and more just who they are. Bitten on the other hand have a whole new set of things to learn to control and there is a huge learning curve. There is a bit of truth to the old adage “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks”. It is harder to learn to control their instincts when they are older. Plus many bitten see their wolf as a completely separate being, which causes psychological discord and makes for a very unstable werewolf. Bitten wolves also don’t always have the strong familial support or feel as close to the ones that turned them as born would. This is not always the case but it is common enough.”

 

Sometime during her explanation Stiles had whipped out a pen and was taking notes. Her lips twitched amused. Maybe he might survive all this after all.

 

“Two. Despite what some lore says, only an Alpha Werewolf’s bite can cause a change. The bite also doesn’t react the same way for every person. For some it can be an easy transition from human to werewolf, others it’s a long painful process and sometimes the body can reject the bite completely.” She paused.

 

“What happens when the bite is rejected?” Stiles asked when the silence grew. Looking him straight in the eye she replied, “They die.” Stiles eyes widened.

 

She continued, “Biting someone is always a risk. No one knows for sure how any one person is going to react to the bite.”

 

“Three. All werewolves need an anchor, something that reminds them of their humanity and keeps the more animalistic part of them from taking completely over. This anchor may change over times just personalities and priorities change in life. But having an anchor is fundamental to a emotionally stable werewolf.”

 

“Do they only change under the full moon?”

 

“No. Most werewolves can shift at any time, but as with all things, it takes time to master. The full moon does hold sway over all werewolves, though, and it is easier for werewolves to shift on the full moon. In fact for new werewolves, born or bitten the first couple of full moons usually effect them strongly enough to force the change. It takes time for new werewolves to learn to control the change rather than letting the change control them.”

 

“For the most part werewolves are just like humans but are significantly stronger with greater agility, better senses, and faster healing. They get more but have more to control.”

 

“With great power comes great responsibility.” Stiles quoted.

 

“Basically,” Jane said dryly.

 

“Are there any ways to…hurt a werewolf?”

 

“Yes. Silver is a known weakness; it can burn a werewolf and kill them if used in a bullet or knife. Pure silver is best, the higher the percentage of silver the more harm it can do. Wolfsbane can cause hallucinations, weaken, sedate or kill werewolves all depending on the dosage and how it is delivered.”

 

He nodded and the room fell into silence as Stiles began to process the information dump. He flipped through the papers she had given him; mouth moving as he silently skimmed the sheets, making notes and mark the pages along the way.

 

She was content to just sit there. It wasn’t very often that she had company. In fact the only people she had over to her place, beside her landlord and the Sheriff once, was Stiles. The diner, located directly across from the Sheriffs department was a common hang out for Stiles while he waited for his dad. They had struck up an easy friendship almost as soon as she had arrived; and despite her attempts to the contrary Stiles had weaseled his way into her heart from the beginning. A young boy who had lost his mother way too soon, and an often-absent father too focused on his work helping others rather that he didn’t see his own son needed him desperately. It reminded her of another set of lost boys from 25 years ago. Not that the Sheriff was a bad father, he wasn’t and the few times she had talked to him it was obvious that he loved his son. It was just as obvious though that he didn’t always know what to do with Stiles. So he chose not to do anything. He wasn’t abusive or mean, just absent. Which for a boy like Stiles who thrived on attention and only wanted his fathers approval, was sometimes worse. So instead of keeping her distance she quickly drew stiles under her wing. She needed someone to care for and he needed someone to care. Lonely attracted lonely.

 

Once the Sheriff realized how close they had become he had paid her a visit at home. He wasn’t concerned about their friendship, he had reassured her, but grateful that Stiles had a positive female role model in his life. The Sheriff had all but said he knew he had failed his son in some respects and that he appreciated that someone was looking out for his son when he couldn’t. Soon after that conversation Stiles had started dropping by first for help with some of his schoolwork and soon he’d drop by her place when his dad was working a double shift or late night shift just to have some company.

 

Looking at the time she sat up in the chair and stretched cracking her back. She still needed to get her evening workout in. Even though she wasn’t hunting anymore the idea of growing soft wasn’t appealing. If she had learned anything in her life was that to be unprepared was suicide, life, especially in her family, had a way of coming back to haunt you. Sometimes literally. But not only did she have to exercise she still had to finish the paper she had been working on Sunday night and the due date was fast approaching.

 

“Was there anything else you wanted to know Stiles?”

 

“Huh? Oh uh.” He quickly racked his brain. “No. At least not right now. This…this is a lot to process. I think I need to…think about it.”

 

“I did give you a lot of information.” She agreed wryly.

 

“Can I? Can I come to you for more information once I’ve had time to go over it all?” He asked hesitantly. He was overwhelmed with the amount of information in front of him, the weight of his best friends condition on his shoulders. He had to figure this out for Scott, because Scott definitely wasn’t going to do it himself.

 

She tilted her head questionly. In the short amount of months that she had known Stiles he had hardly been hesitant to monopolize her time. Maybe it was the way she acted at the Diner today, she had been a little cranky with the lack of sleep.

 

“Sure Stiles, you know you can come to me for anything. You have my phone number. If you need anything don’t hesitate to call. Alright?”

 

The smile Stiles sent her warmed her heart and she returned the smile. An echo of a memory made its way into the moment. Two smiles: one beaming a puppy dog’s smile- full of joy and innocence, another, so similar to her own, first a wry quirk of the lips before breaking into a mischievous grin. Jane’s smile faded off her lips, as she was lost to the memory. Stiles looked over at her sadly. There were times like this that Jane just seemed so forlorn. Eyes locked on some distant scene that he couldn’t see. Once again he couldn’t help but wonder what her life had been like before she had come to Beacon Hills. She had mentioned a brother, a twin, but here she was alone. What had happened to bring such sadness to such a strong person?

 

Clearing his throat awkwardly Stiles stood, “Uh so I better go. It’s a school night and all.”

 

Jane quickly shook away the melancholy thoughts and copied him. After bit of shuffling and then stuffing the pages into his bag, they walked to the door. Opening it for him, she turned to Stiles stopping him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

 

“I meant what I said. If you need anything. At all. Ever. You call me. No time is too late. Understand?” She wanted to impart the seriousness of this. If Stiles was getting involved in the Supernatural like she thought then he needed her more than ever. It was too late to protect him from knowing about the Supernatural, but she could make sure he survived it.

 

Stiles studied her for a moment. She still looked so dejected, something was clearly bothering her but here she was comforting him. A warm feeling bloomed in his chest. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around her. She stiffened for a second before relaxing and wrapping her arms around him tightly. She stood there enjoying the warm, firm feeling, eyes closed and a small sad smile on her lips. It had been a long time since she had, had a hug.

 

“Thank you.” Stiles whisper before stepping back. With one final soft smile he walked out the door.

 

Jane watched Stiles lope down the stairs, gangly limps flying every which way reminding her, yet again, of another young boy years ago. The resurfacing of old memories was becoming a constant thing, just as the ache in her chest was too. She was a glutton for punishment though because even though Stiles was the catalyst for all this pain she wasn’t going to stop. She had already given so much to the Supernatural world, she’d be damned if she lost Stiles to it as well.

 

* * *

 

Jane woke with a start body jerking from her prone position draped over her bed, raising her head she blearily looked at the clock on her bedside table.

 

**7:05 AM**

 

Jane grimaced when she realized that she had fallen asleep still in her work clothes, but didn’t make an effort to move off the bed. It had been a long, long night. She hadn’t arrived home from her Friday night shift at the Jungle until nearly 4 AM. A crazy night, even crazier than usual but she had made a killing on tips so it had been worth dealing with drunken shitheads.

 

 _‘Must have been the full moon. It always brings the crazy out of people.’_ She thought with dry amusement.

 

She laid there on the bed thinking about just falling back asleep right then and there rather than work up the energy to get up and take a shower when she heard a faint beep. Frowning she raised her head off the bed. The beep came again a few moments later; it was coming from her purse. Her phone? Grunting with the effort, she crawled over to the edge of the bed where she had dropped her purse. Reaching down she blindly began to fumble for the phone. Who would have called her and also left a message? The only people that had this particular phones number were her places of work, school, her landlord, the Sheriff, and....

 

“What the fuck?” Stiles had called at least 15 times and had left several messages. Panicking she quickly began to play back the messages.

 

 **Beep**.

 

_‘Hey Jane. So, hypothetically. If a newly bitten teenage werewolf wanted to go to a party on a full moon with a girl he really liked. What is the worst that could happen? Uh give me a call back as soon as you get this.'_

 

**Beep.**

 

_‘Jane. Hey, uh, so. Hypothetically if a teen werewolf just ran off from a party acting all weird and crazy leaving behind his date what is the best course of action? Also how can I minimize the social damage this would cause for said teen wolf with said date?’_

 

 **Beep**.

 

_‘*mumbled* Shit shit shit. *Muffled sounds of running* Oh Jane hey. Another question. So how to werewolves deal with the idea that someone they care about it threatened? Not good right? Also how would the biter, deal with someone the bitee cared about? Like say, if they offered to give the previously mentioned date a ride home after previously mentioned teen wolf left them high and dry. They wouldn’t hurt that person, right? Hypothetically.’_

 

 **Beep**.

 

_‘Okay answered my last two questions.’_

 

 **Beep**.

 

_‘How do you track werewolves? In the dark?’_

 

**Beep.**

 

 _‘Few more questions. All hypothetical.’_ There was a bit of rustling in the background like someone was pulling out a piece of paper. Despite her increasing worry with each voice mail she smiled. Stiles always the prepared one.  

 

 _‘Can a bitten werewolf be changed back, like unwerewolf’d? Is that even a word? If not I just made it one. Oh right questions.’_ Again, the rustling of paper.

 

_‘How do werewolves learn control? Can I use a water spray bottle and treats like a dog? Do chains work on werewolves, on full moon nights, to like keep them from terrorizing the town and stuff?’_

 

She frowned. This question and other questions from the previous voicemails she could conclude that the person who was bitten was young, Stiles age no doubt, and a friend of Stiles. Stiles, despite being a wonderful person, wasn’t the type to help just anyone, he wasn’t naturally altruistic. Scott? It had to be Scott. She didn’t really know the kid having rarely spoken with him but he seemed the decent sort, if a little naïve.

 

It was the next question that had her blood run cold.

 

_‘What exactly are hunters? Not the ones that hunt cute Bambi but the ones that can seemingly trick, not that it seems that hard, and hurt werewolves. So uh call me. For science, and my project.’_

 

There was a pause.

 

 _‘Please.’_ There was a desperate tinge to the end of the message.

 

**Beep.**

 

She closed her eyes tightly.

 

“Shit.” With hunters, unknown ones at that, this situation just got a whole lot more complicated, and dangerous. Despite the fact that hunting had been her way of life for a long time she didn’t have the highest of opinions of most hunters. Most were stupid or insane, sometimes both, and most didn’t care if a human or innocent got in the way of their hunt for whatever their chosen target was. She’d be damned if she let them hurt Stiles though. This was a wake up call for Jane. She should have known that she couldn’t outrun who she was, the Supernatural world didn’t let just you leave, Sam had been a testament to that.

 

She sighed and sat up on the edge of her bed. It was time to make some phone calls. She needed information about this town and the previous Supernatural history. She also needed to find out who was hunting in the area and how they found out. One phone call was definitely overdue and she wasn’t looking forward to that tongue-lashing.

 

Dialing a number she had long ago memorized she listened as the phone rang. 

 

A familiar rough voice answered the phone, _‘Singer Salvage Yard.’_


End file.
